


wild eyes, tamed heart

by baobeimark



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Sex, Assassins, Enemies to Lovers, Erotic Assassination Attempts, Fae & Fairies, Hand Jobs, Homoerotic sword fighting, M/M, Princes & Princesses, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rivals to Lovers, Water Sex, horny banter between a prince and an assassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28991547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baobeimark/pseuds/baobeimark
Summary: "So beautiful yet so persistent," Mark breathed out as the water around them splashed in their struggle, "Why do you want to kill me when you could easily have me all for yourself?""I want you," Donghyuck breathed out, "-dead."
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 18
Kudos: 181
Collections: Kingdom Come Round One





	wild eyes, tamed heart

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to whoever prompted A021, I really enjoyed making this. <3 Thank you for a wonderful round of Kingdom Come.

Moonlight bathed the palace in beautiful silver iridescent hues. The palace was surely serene as the moon when there wasn’t the constant bustle of guards, servants, and nobles alike. If heaven was not this palace, then heaven surely did not exist among man. Even in heaven, however, there would be fragments of hell. Cracks in the pristine mirror to remind you that this is not the heaven you've been looking for.

After all, even the Morning Star was once an angel; the most admired and adored, rumored to be God’s favorite. He was the angel of black wings; the starlight and moonlight of the kingdom and land. His natural pout had every woman and man in his castle charmed. He was dazzlingly sweet, lovely, and ethereal according to those who’ve met him. He, a lion, ruled over the palace, his lion’s den. Outside of the kingdom, everyone wanted his throat, in more ways than one. Many people wanted to watch him fall from grace; off his throne, or splayed across it like a Greek painting. It was envy at the very front, and greed at the very end. 

His natural pout had every woman and man in his castle charmed, which was never a front for his rather unpredictable personality. He was just as sweet, just as lovely and ethereal as those who met him say. Rumor on lips, was what his dark moonlight was.

The first assassination attempt was to be expected, but he did not expect this scenario. It was amusing, being bare in his bedroom and holding a black leather-clad man's hands behind his back. He had twisted the intricate ridged dagger from his hands, admiring the way his breath hitched in his throat and the way he went limp in his hold. It was pathetically cute, watching this supposedly trained assassin become pliant beneath his touch. What amused him even more, intrigued him even, was the assassin’s eyes, illuminated by the moonlight pouring past his curtains into the room. This assassin was Icarus, soaring too close to the sun before melting and falling, falling,  _ falling _ . His dark eyes stared back into the prince's; anger, discontent, and humiliation flowed from them. Like he rightfully deserved for trying to kill a man in his sleep. Frustration was there, of course, because misery loves company and the prince loved seeing someone who'd grown to be cocky suddenly become helpless dough for him to knead.

"Crown Prince Mark Lee," The assassin breathed out. His voice was muffled behind the taught covering, his hood hiding his ears and hair. A shame, really. Mark wanted to see what he looked like as a whole. Yet, he could wait. He could satisfy his curiosity with conversation. "I will kill you. For my home. For my people. You are a traitor."

Mark could only smile at the assassin's words. "Perhaps you should try again, my dear. Your skills are far from average. Below moderate is being considerate."

The assassin only scoffed, turning his head away. Mark was sure if he gave him the chance, he would come and stab his back. He couldn't allow it, nor allow anyone to know how scandalous it was to stand naked in his own bedroom, being the one to apprehend an assassin. Instead, he grabbed the infiltrator by the throat, pulling him to where his back was against Mark's bare chest.

"You should learn your place, if you ever wish to beat me." Mark's voice was barely above a whisper in the assassin’s ear, but it sent a shiver down his spine. It was pleasing to watch him squirm in his hold, gloved hands coming up to claw at the bare hand gripping his covered throat. "You should take up lessons with me, little snake. I think it would do you good if you're truly intent on killing me."

"Burn." The assassin spat back. "You and your kingdom can burn."

With that, the assassin wormed his way out of Mark's grip - of course Mark was a good boy and let him go - and fled through the balcony into the night, not daring to attempt once more this night.

Mark was thoroughly intrigued. The poison in the assassin's words must come from somewhere. Their game of cat and mouse was far from over.

The next attempt was rather romantic, in Mark's opinion. Having tried to kill him in his own royal garden, while he was stooped down to care for the wilting morning glories and sunflowers. Such a shame flowers died; their beauty wasted temporarily to please a world that would never cherish them. Mark was rather fond of flowers and their aromas - even when crushed under tangled bodies struggling for dominance. The assassin had gotten better, Mark assumed he listened and took lessons, but he was still rather awful at his job. More of his face was revealed from their struggle this time - Mark admiring the button nose in their tousle. He wondered what it would be like to kiss it. Instead, he had a knife to his throat, his own hands wrapped around the assassin's throat; thumbs dipping into the concave underneath his chin as if he wanted to snap his neck. It would be easy. One fluid motion and the assassin would be a thorn in his side no more. However he was rather fond of this assassin, and ending his life was less ideal than dealing with his pathetic attempts at doing his job.

Mark wondered what it would be like if the assassin did slit his throat in the garden. His blood would feed the flowers to bloom again, perhaps even entice the butterflies for a drink. A body of butterflies - a wonderful thought for a wonderful angel. He was not the angel people wanted, nor what they expected. With wings of black, he was such a tainted beauty. Perhaps the assassin knew this too, and maybe that was why he didn't drag the blade across his throat. Their encounter left him wondering when the next will be. To Mark, it was amusing to guess how the assassin would try to kill him next. A thought for another time as he sat in the council room, surrounded by nobles who could care less about what they talked about. They were only in it for the money. They always wanted to save their own hides and let the majority of the kingdom suffer. Mark wouldn't allow it; hence the enemies. Greed over morals. Beauty of opulence over beauty of life. There was beauty in death too, though Mark wasn't specialized in that. He much preferred living.

The assassin lived in death, though. He specialized in it. The next attempt was in Mark’s bath house, with a glass ceiling and green plants around them. The water was steaming, oils and scents floating in the air as Mark held onto the assassin's arms. He had disguised himself as a servant this time - now he was truly learning. Fortunately, Mark could now see who was after his heart and head now. An ethereal otherworldly angel with heart-shaped lips that were red from being bitten raw. Tension from the hunt, he assumed. Mark held his wrists, watching dark bark-colored strands bounce as the assassin struggled against his grip. His skin was nut colored, like the acorns that fell from the trees planted around the kingdom. Maples. This assassin was a maple, but not really. He was a faerie. Not an angel, but so close. His pointed ears and folded wings made it obvious. More than obvious. Faeries were often servants for royals and nobles, so Mark suspected that’s how he got into the palace with such ease.

"So beautiful yet so persistent," Mark breathed out as the water around them splashed in their struggle, "Why do you want to kill me when you could easily have me all for yourself?"

His words made the assassin falter, allowing Mark to dunk and hold him underwater. Bubble emerged where air was being stripped from his lungs, pulling him up only when he felt the resolve in him weaken. The faerie's face was now flushed red, inhaling rapidly as he tried to replenish squeezed lungs. Mark stared at him, at the water cascading down his perfectly rounded cheeks, having dark eyes stare at him half-lidded. Words were dissolved and useless when he looked at Mark with so many broken pieces Mark seemed to understand all too well. He wanted nothing more than to kill Mark, but this was becoming a fruitless effort for both of them. Now that his identity was revealed, it was altogether squandered. The faerie's wings were like a butterflies. A monarch’s, shimmering black and golden orange as they were folded and limp on his back, drenched.

"I want you," He breathed out, " _ -dead _ ."

Yet he surged forward, wrapping his arms around Mark's neck and pressing eager, plump limps to his and molding them into mouth-watering kisses. Mark was acutely aware this was another assassination attempt; sucking on his tongue, muffling a moan through their slotted lips as the faerie rutted his hips against Mark's. Soon there would be a knife in his back, maybe even in his stomach. But the cold touch of metal didn’t come, not yet. The faerie breathed a whine into Mark's mouth, causing him to delve in further, unraveling this assassin at the seams. His arms roamed the pliant and willing body, groping his thighs as their hips sought friction against each other. Tension lay thick in the air. Thicker than blood. This was nothing more than sexual attraction, maybe even aesthetic attraction on Mark's part. Mark sucked a bruise into the column of the faerie's neck, savoring the feeling of blunt nails raking into his back as he turned this man's neck and collar blue and purple with intense love bites and suckles.

Mark held onto the assassin's left hand, gripping his wrist so tight that the assassin cried out in pain. The struggling was back, the sloshing of hot water and humiliation on both sides. Mark wasn't as nearly as humiliated; only letting himself believe for a fraction of a moment that the assassin wanted something more than another pathetic assassination attempt. Instead, the assassin - a faerie no less - was here, sobbing in frustration, unable to comply with Mark's wishes or his own. He almost felt sorry for the faerie.  _ Almost _ .

"This is the last time." Mark growled out, unable to hide his run-out patience anymore. "If you come near me again, you will either submit to me or rot with the flowers."

It had been seasons since he last saw the faerie. It was now the sixth winter since seeing him, with the sun high in the sky and the snow blanketing the ground thickly. The people of the land dressed in furs now, along with the prince himself. What he wasn't expecting, however, was to find the faerie sitting in the loveseat in his room. Dressed in furs as well, though non-threatening. No weapons. No disguise. The tips of his ears were pink, nose pink, cheeks and lips red and pink, face flushed and fingers digging into the freezing satin tunic he was wearing. A new development, then. How curious. He expected his general to say something, to alert him of an intruder, but there was only silence and them.

"Donghyuck." Was what the faerie first said, not looking up from his freezing fingers. "My name, Your Majesty."

_ Your Majesty _ .

Mark's lips threatened to twitch into a smile, but he restrained himself. "I didn't ask." Yet he still kneeled in front of the faerie. "But thank you."

His hands slithered their way to hold the faerie's - Donghyuck's - hands. They were ice-cold, no gloves in sight. Mark clasped them together in his own, breathing his warm breath into them in an effort to heat him up. Donghyuck was peering down at him with wide, expecting eyes. Expecting him to what, though? Most likely to cast him out or into the dungeon. Mark knew better; he’d keep this faerie all to himself. All his. It was selfish, a catastrophic decision that could put him at risk even more. He was willing to take the risk though, as many times as he had taken risks in this assassin’s presence before. They were both a disastrous force of nature. Hot and cold. A hurricane all wrapped up in a pretty crown, kissable moles, and faerie wings. This was heaven. This was what he truly wanted.

“I thought you’d have me strung out by my wings by now.” Donghyuck’s lips parted, letting out a sigh that could steam up the room had there been no fireplace in his room.

Mark’s smile was enough to have the faerie looking away, averting his eyes anywhere but on Mark. He wasn’t anxious per se, rather nervous. His air of confidence was still strong, keeping him locked on that loveseat and never pulling away from the crown prince. When his dark eyes finally did land on Mark’s, there was a heady want that pooled in their depths and flushed across his face. Mark wouldn’t humor him tonight. Not like he wanted - not like in the bath house. 

The prince raised his hand to settle the pads of his fingers across Donghyuck’s skin. It was smooth to the touch, soft and pliant under his touch. In the depths of his mind, Mark wondered how it would taste. If Donghyuck would truly taste like sweetened treats, honey, and hurricane. His curiosity would get the better of him if he kept flying after him as if he were the sun. An Icarus, soon to be falling.

“This will never be love.” Mark’s hand had trailed down to Donghyuck’s nape now, fingers curling into the strands of his hair. “But it is surely ours.”

Donghyuck breathed out, as if he were still being held under the water of the bath house. The current crashing tides of his mind threaten to submerge his imagination in forbidden depths he knew he shouldn’t reach for....and yet he was allowing himself to be pulled closer and closer, until his heart-shaped lips crashed into a taut bowstring of the prince’s. A whirlpool of emotions flooded through the cracks in his aching chest, spiraling downwards as if Icarus had truly fallen into the sea. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to be here, like this, in Mark’s mouth and down his throat. He wasn’t supposed to let the prince lick the seam of his mouth and give in. Donghyuck breathed out against Mark’s lips, letting a new kind of heat cascade over him. 

They pulled apart all too soon for either’s liking, but it was a must. Mark was staring at him with glassy eyes, Donghyuck staring back with half-lidded ones.

“I still will kill you.” Donghyuck ran his peachy pink tongue over his lips, savoring the taste left by Mark’s.

Mark just let out a genuinely amused laugh, leaning in to peck the faerie’s button nose.

  
  
  
  


Another set of seasons came and went as Mark waited for his faerie to come. More assassination attempts; some genuine, some child’s play. The banter they shared was always light hearted, sounding mean, but always on the brink of unraveling the mutual infatuation they shared. It was by no means a treaty of truth or reconciliation. They both knew their places in the world and what it meant to both of them. An assassin carries his dues in blood. A prince carries his in his chest and on his head. Heaven was a long way from here, from the eyes of peasants and nobles alike. The Morning Star bleeds red, and Donghyuck found out all too soon that Mark does not, in fact, bleed red.

“Your blood,” Donghyuck’s eyes were wide as he stared at the knife lodged in Mark’s right shoulder. Too close to the heart. His shoulder and uniform were not stained red, but in fact-

“Silver.” The faerie caught himself laughing, out of disbelief, out of shock, cupping his own mouth with his hands as tears sprung to his eyes. They left a stinging sensation as they rolled down his cheeks.

“Surprise?” Mark replied grittily, holding the knife at the base of where it was buried into him. He pulled his hand away to survey the damage, hissing in pain as the released pressure caused the nerves in his skin to crackle like embers. Mark’s blood was still warm, soaking down his uniform and splattering against the marble floor of his bedroom.

Donghyuck surged forward, but Mark held out a hand.

“Stop.” He glared at the faerie. Glancing at the fireplace, he maneuvered himself to sit in front of it. “I’m not pulling it out until we sterilize and cauterize it.”

“Alcohol.” Donghyuck hiccupped, choking on his own tears. “We need alcohol.”

“Wine, on the table. It’s not strong but-” Mark took the bottle from Donghyuck’s shaking grasp, “-it’ll have to do.”

Donghyuck watched as tore his own nightshirt off himself, hearing the sickening rip of the fabric. Mark’s torso, now exposed, was doused in the same glimmering and gleaming silver blood that reflected the fire’s hungry flames. Mark poured a little of the wine over his shoulder, seemingly to mentally steel himself before the most painful part. Taking a large gulp, the prince set the bottle aside, wrapping his fingers along the engraved hilt of the dagger. In one swift motion he had ripped it out of himself, muffling his cry of pain into the soaked nightshirt. Donghyuck wanted to go to him, to comfort him, but his mind gripped his body with guilt. His wings were shivering. He was truly afraid now.

Mark poured the wine onto his shoulder once more, gagging at the smell and the feeling. He was holding Donghyuck’s dagger over the fire now, waiting for the metal to burn bright red. The detailing showed it was of elven origin; therefore the metals would heat up fairly quickly.

“I don’t….” The faerie’s voice was small in the depths of his chest. “I don’t understand. Crown Prince Mark Lee, a…”

“It would do you good to shut up.” Mark hissed out, eyes still focused on the dagger. "Don't ask questions you're not prepared to have answered. Don't ask...things you couldn't possibly understand."

"Then help me understand." Donghyuck balled his hands into fists at his sides. His wings drooped, his ears would too; so discouraged, trying his best. "Help me understand why I can't kill you."

Mark is a thief and a liar compared to Donghyuck, who has an honest heart and honest eyes. Tears are rolling down his face when Mark steals a glance at him. The searing heat of the knife nearly burns the prince's fingers as he watches the ornate metal burn a brilliant orange and white now. He pulls it away from the fireplace, looking up at Donghyuck and lies through gritted teeth when his eyes shimmer and looks as if he’s handing him the dagger back. The fae stares at him with wide and sparkling eyes, bewildered. Almost as if he forgot his original purpose for coming here. Mark dipped his head, his gaze dark as he held out the searing knife towards him.

“I’m giving you your chance, buttercup.” The prince drawled out thickly. “To do what you came here for. To kill me.”

_ Buttercup _ . The name rolls from the prince's tongue like thick honey, dripping over Donghyuck. He can't suppress the shiver that caresses his spine or the innate warmth that floods his mouth. The tips of his ears burned, but he doesn't insult Mark with the notion he may be apprehensive or even in love with him. He wrapped his fingers around the fist Mark has around the hilt of the scalding dagger, tilting it towards the stab wound he created in him. He made Mark angle it to press the flat of the blade against the wound, flinching when the crown prince tilts his head back and cries out in pain. Donghyuck swallowed down his own recoil and kissed Mark, eyes open and glancing down at their hands. He pressed the dagger down harder, smothering Mark's cries and licking down the vibration of pained groans. Donghyuck kept the blade of the dagger pressed onto Mark’s skin until his voice is raspy and nothing but whimpers. Once the blade had cooled, he pulled their hands back. The carved whorls in the blade left a steaming imprint burned into his skin, but the original wound was sealed up now. He drew back as Mark bit down on his bottom lip; Mark doesn’t let him escape, pressing a hand to his nape and curling his fingers into the strands of his hair. Donghyuck tried to call his name, but it’s swallowed up and turns into a soft moan as Mark licked into his mouth.

Six winters Mark had consumed his thoughts. Six winters he paid his dues for his failures to kill the prince. Now said prince slid the fae’s blouse off his shoulders, marveling in the dips of his collar bones and the moles scattered across his body like stars. His body was clean, scarless and pure. The way he ground down on Mark’s thigh is anything but. His body flush, heat rising off his skin as his wings shuddered helplessly behind him. Donghyuck looks wrecked already

“You’re hurt. We shouldn’t—” But Mark cut him off with a breathless kiss.

He sighed into his mouth, wet plushness pressed and sucking his top lip. “We won’t. You’re not ready. Just like this.”

“Just like this?” The faerie echoed and Mark nodded subtly. Donghyuck tipped his head away and back as the prince slid his hand down the waistband of his breeches. 

Mark palmed his shaft. It grew in his hand, Donghyuck whined and rutted his hips into Mark’s hand. He braces himself against the prince’s chest, nosing his shoulder. He tentatively licks at the wound in his shoulder, feeling Mark shudder under his touch. He tastes like wine and blood, which is to be expected, but he also tastes like moonlight and the blanketed night sky. Ruin and calm calamity all in one. His tongue ran over the singed flesh and heat pooled in his core. Mark gave his cock a soft squeeze as it stopped growing hard in his hand, thumbing the head and slit. Donghyuck rut into his hand again, face flushed and lightheaded. If he wanted to, Mark could kill him right here. Be done with this whole assassination ordeal and live a normal life. He could wrap his hands around the faerie’s neck and press his thumbs on his pulse points and feel his life pour away from him. Greed held his heart and he reveled in the way the assassin turned to putty in his hands, letting him mold him as he went. He loved feeling the heat of his body against his. The way he moaned his name like sin just for him, as if he worshipped the way Mark touched every inch of him. His life was just as precious as the ones he stole. Mark could only want him. Want to keep him alive. Want to keep him to himself.

He pumped his fist once, then twice, then in a repeated manner that had Donghyuck’s wings shuddering non-stop in delight. Said fae arched into him, chasing his release and moving his hips frantically. He was so sweet. So sweet and so lovely just for Mark, in his hands and in his mouth when Mark swallowed his moans and sucked on his tongue. Donghyuck worshipped him even as he’s unraveling in his hold. Mark touched him tenderly as if he’s a glass statue filled with warmth. 

“Just like this, Donghyuck. Come for me just like this, buttercup.” And he does. The nickname pushed him over the edge and made the sun in his core explode. His orgasm came abruptly, spilling white-hot into Mark’s fist with Mark’s name cried out in a shattered voice. Donghyuck’s labored breaths are short puffs against the prince’s mouth.

Mark kissed him with just as much conviction. His mouth is savage, sucking blooming bruises in the shapes of splotchy flowers on his sunny skin, alternating between swelling up his mouth with a hungry kind of need and creating his painting over the fae’s moles. He still pumped his fist on Donghyuck’s cock, stopping his mouth to take in the way tears rolled down Donghyuck’s face and the gasps that continuously escaped him.

“I don’t think I have another round in me.” Donghyuck choked out, but Mark kept going and Donghyuck wanted to keep going too. Mark kept jerking him until Donghyuck cried out again, writhing in Mark’s lap. He wailed as he came again with Mark whispering a low _ yes you can, just like that, you’re so good for me buttercup _ in his ear. Mark abused the nickname like this. It seeped underneath Donghyuck’s skin and burnt him up. Ignited his heart and set his ribcage ablaze with a garden of sunflowers. They both know the inevitable will come; one of them is bound to lose this game the prince set in motion. The faerie is already on the losing team, after all. Donghyuck ground down on Mark’s lap and licked into his mouth, though the kisses they share are softer. Kinder. Much more caring and loving, in a manner Donghyuck thought Mark to be incapable of. Yet here he was, proving him wrong, kissing him like he would fall apart the moment he stopped.

“You’re hard.”

Mark scoffed. “And you’re tired.” His hand comes out of Donghyuck’s pants and he licked it clean. Donghyuck’s face flushed but Mark was unbothered. He pressed Donghyuck into himself and lifted him up, carrying him to his four-poster bed. Pressing Donghyuck into the sheets with a grunt, Mark does nothing but fit himself into his side and stroke his hair. Donghyuck is more than confused. He turned to look at Mark, to which the response is a soft peck to his nose. Then kisses to his cheeks, his nose bridge, his lips, then finally his forehead. The tenderness is out of character for the Mark that Donghyuck knows. That anybody knows. This side of Mark is something only this insignificant assassin has seen, has felt, has kissed, and been held by. A side of Mark that ran his fingers through his hair and lets him sleep in the same bed despite knowing that he’s an assassin. Someone who’s out for Mark’s throat but instead is wrapped beside him.

On any other night, Donghyuck tries to rationalize, he would slit Mark’s throat while he slept. His mind is still muddled from pleasure and his heart barely slows by the minute. He wanted to hold the prince to his chest and pretend the world and their obligations don’t exist. He wanted everything he can’t have in the form of a moonlit prince whose icy demeanor comes from a lifetime of living on an elevated playing field. He can’t bring himself to hate him anymore. He can’t resent what he wants, even if it eats him away from the inside. His duty is to kill Mark. He must; it’s his destiny to fulfill. He was raised to eliminate him, but instead Donghyuck the assassin braced himself up and leaned in to kiss the bow of Mark’s thinner lips. That’s when he knows his heart has turned traitor, for he can’t break himself away.

Donghyuck is certainly more crass than Mark in this aspect. Destiny can fuck itself, he thought.

  
  
  


When Donghyuck awoke, the room was empty. Sunlight filtered through the windows and warmed up the space, blanketing what’s in the window’s wake in golden hues. The bed was halfway in the sunlight, the foot of it reaching the doors to the balcony. He slipped off the sheets, finding himself bare. Now he certainly didn’t do that. They didn’t go all the way last night. His mind jumped to the most possible and rational conclusion; Mark must have stripped him of his dirty clothes and let him sleep with him in peace. The room is clean too, not a drop of blood in sight. Donghyuck’s dagger is missing too, his mind registering that he dropped it to the floor after cauterizing Mark’s wound.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

The door creaked open and Donghyuck scrambled to grab at the sheets to cover himself. Seeing Mark’s face didn’t help, just make him grip the sheets around himself tighter. Mark sets the bundle of clothes he carried by the foot of the bed and round towards Donghyuck. Donghyuck moved away from him, though Mark only leaned in and tilted the fae’s head up towards him. For a moment Donghyuck allows his walls to come down and thinks Mark will kiss him, but quickly stomps out the thought and glares right into his eyes. Mark let out an amused laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind Donghyuck’s pointed ear.

“Back to wanting to kill me?”

Donghyuck answered with a snarl.

Mark laughed once more, catching Donghyuck off guard by backing away. “You’re stunning without clothes. Every inch of you is molten sun, buttercup.” The praise made Donghyuck flush. The nickname only serves to make him both more embarrassed and angry, but Mark ignored Donghyuck’s glare. This change of attitude only set the faerie even more off-kilter. It melts away before he can adjust to it, before he can hold on to the fleeting sense of domesticity and borderline heart-warming...no. It’s not love. It will never be love. “If you really want to be the assassin they say you are, you’ll meet me in the courtyard in thirty minutes.”

He slipped right through Donghyuck’s fingers. In a flash, he’s gone and Donghyuck is left to dress himself. The clothes are surprisingly accommodating to his lithe frame and wings. They’re work clothes, he realizes. Time ticked away as he navigated through the palace, avoiding stares by using the cloak to hide his ears and wings. It's difficult; he's only ever navigated the palace a few times, always towards the prince's chambers or in his direction. It seemed as if he was always following his existence. Even in the small things, even when they weren't head to head. He pushed back a rising scoff as his boots squeaked against the floor—shoes. He despised shoes, unable to feel the earth beneath him as he asked a servant for directions to the courtyard. Spending months in and out of this place didn't ever give Donghyuck the time to familiarize himself with the intricacies of the palace. Mark must have told his servants and workers who Donghyuck was because they responded to him in a way that was reserved for nobility and the royal family themselves. They feared him, or feared what Mark would do to them if they mistreated Donghyuck.

The courtyard wasn't much of a courtyard. It was more akin to a field, painted in lush green moss and soft thin grass that was just as vibrant. The space would come in handy, seeing as how Mark brought along swords. His mind connected the dots. Mark's words from six years ago come rushing back. It had been their first meeting, after all. The familiarity changed over time, the feeling morphing into something more coated in a new kind of fondness. Nothing could douse the intense flood of what he assumed to be hatred in his burning heart. Replaced, maybe, but never gone or destroyed. His life was built upon the principles of god-killer and king-killer alike, forged in the fires of his people to burn like a sun, so bright it would sear up all others who dared to challenge him. Yet when he met Mark, a man who was kissed in cosmic dust, who was soaked in everlasting moonlight and exquisite night sky, his paradigm shifted. A mirage was broken, and he was here, face-to-face with both his greatest desire and adversity.

When Donghyuck gripped the hilt of the rapier, he learned what it meant to lose. Nothing compared to the feeling of being pushed to the dirt by the man he wanted to kill. By the man he wanted to kiss. Nothing compared to when he pulled off the cloak and let his wings spring free. And Mark watched. He watched the fae turn to liquid, igniting all around him. Orange shimmer and honeyed skin against blue velvet and wheat-barley skin, the blades meeting and sparking. The clang of metal was nothing but music as they maneuvered, in tune with one another. A deadly dance to be admired from afar, yet when eye-to-eye, all there was in the wake was a purple haze of two different intentions. Mark was wrong; Donghyuck knew how to use a sword. He was one of the most excellent swordsmen he'd ever had the pleasure of dueling, and the thought was reciprocated.

Everything stitched together in an endless seam of time. When they were supposed to finished dueling, both of them were doused in sweat and dirt. Neither stopped, though. They didn't stop even as the golden hour set in and reflected off the silver blades of the rapiers, adrenaline coursed through them equally. Mark always one step ahead and Donghyuck always two steps up. Tension lay thick in the air, sliced through by the sound of rapier blades hitting consecutively and sparking. Their step sequence was a boxed dance of blades and air. Neither hitting just right. Both dancing in tune with the strikes. They only stopped when the sun sank low in the great sea of a sky, when their palms were rubbed raw from the hilts and their arms ached. 

"I'm supposed to kill you." Donghyuck panted out, his sword tilted downwards. "I'm supposed to watch you and your kingdom fall. I'm supposed to strike you through the heart and watch your world eat you up. Watch your body paraded around my village and make everyone proud."

Mark stared at the faerie. At his glistening wings, at his soaked bangs that stuck to his forehead. At his lips, then his gleaming eyes. "But?"

"All I can think of right now is how your heart feels against mine."

The confession made Mark smirk. Thin lips quirked upwards as he dropped his sword and walked over to Donghyuck, cupping his cheeks into his hands and kissed him with unbridled desire. It's back. The side of Mark that has Donghyuck reeling in shock is back. The one that kisses him oh so gently, the one that made him feels like Icarus. Perhaps it's not just this side of Mark. Maybe it's all of him. He can't tell, most likely never will, so he lets himself taste the moon on the tip of his tongue. He let himself be drunken up by the night sky and Mark’s ever-thirsting lips.

He should stab him through the heart right here. Right as their lips lock. He should skewer him and be done with it all, wash his hands clean of this sin and downfall but he doesn't. He dropped his sword and held Mark's shoulders as stars invade his mouth and light holds him steady. Donghyuck is a fool but he's a strong one. Mark knows it all too well. They'll never admit it's love. They never can. Not until they wither away and the ground eats at their bones. Or their respective kingdoms forget who they are. There are only a few possible outcomes where they can escape this. Two of them are reserved for the bitter end; one is too romantic for either of their tastes, for either of their desires of the flesh. It would be one thing to crave Donghyuck for his wings, for his beauty, and his skill. It's another to crave just him, whole. Mark knows this, too. He knows the implications and he will die knowing it too.

When they broke apart, Donghyuck couldn’t bear to look Mark in his eyes. There would be a tenderness there that he can’t face for if he does, there would be no going back.

It took another winter bleeding into summer for the simmering hate to return. It never left, Donghyuck tried to reason, but he knows better. He can't truly hate Mark. Not when Mark admitted to him on the night of the Wisteria Festival that he doesn't despise Donghyuck. Rooted deep inside, he already knew that. Already knew from the way Mark kissed him and the way he was always reaching for him but never quite making it. Their ever-continuous push and pull was met with little resistance. Mark invited Donghyuck to bathe with him. The prince held his hand out to him as Donghyuck descended down the steps into the steaming waters bare. Mark couldn’t keep his eyes off of him, drinking up his image. Over the winter Donghyuck's shoulders had gotten broader. His frame had filled out. He became less like a stem and more like a pillar. But his grace never faded; it was ingrained into his very being. Being a fae also meant that he would never truly look fully human.

Golden orange glitter had been dusted across his laugh lines and the apples of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. Petals were seeping in the water, pooling at their waists. One of Mark's hands met Donghyuck's abdomen, trailing up and up across his expanse of skin. Donghyuck let him feel every inch of him, let Mark define the muscles with the pads of his fingers. Let Mark learn as he felt, palms tracing every ridge and dip. One thing Donghyuck learned is that with time, Mark was changing right before him. He was watching Mark grow. He kept asking if what he was doing was okay. Asking to do small things he never asked for before. When he asked to kiss him, Donghyuck wouldn't say no.

"You're different," Donghyuck murmured into the prince's mouth.

"How so?"

His eloquent speech never changed. It was something endearing to Donghyuck, at least. Their first kiss in an entire year was soft and irresistible. Donghyuck thought himself to be insatiable, but here Mark was, flooding his mouth with moonlight and making him drink his words. "You have fewer thorns."

Mark chuckled. "So do you."

Donghyuck just smiled and molded his mouth to Mark’s. They fit together so perfectly and neither of them could get enough of one another. It doesn’t matter what they’ve done in the years apart; just that they’re together now, and this longing they harbor for one another never faded. At times like this Donghyuck would question whether his loyalty lies with his people or Mark, but now he was able to see he’s always been happier by Mark. There’s no one back for him at the faerie kingdom, save for his grandmother, but she even encouraged him to follow what he truly wanted. Now, this...this wasn’t just about loyalty or duty anymore. It wasn’t as simple as what needed to be done for one kingdom. It wasn’t as simple as age-old hatred between two kinds of people who couldn’t sort it out diplomatically. Mark had changed. Donghyuck knew that firsthand. He witnessed it firsthand, watching him turn from a playful, heartless prince of desire to someone who softened his iron grip both on his people and himself. Mark was far from perfect but he was willing and trying to learn. That much was evident.

“Back when we sparred a year ago…” Mark kisses Donghyuck’s cupid’s bow. “I wanted to bend you over the railings and take all of you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was changing then.” He pressed a kiss to the faerie’s cheek. “Like I am now. You...make a large impact for someone trained to be nothing but a shadow.”

“I know.” Donghyuck gripped Mark’s chin and kissed him fully. He sighed into Mark’s mouth, shuddering in the hot water against the prince. Kissing him is awkward but blissful. “It’s the Wisteria Festival. Are you going to—”

“—make love to you here? Yes.” Mark pressed his lip to Donghyuck’s nose. “Yes I am.”

Something about the way Mark says those words set Donghyuck ablaze. His face prickled and he suddenly felt giddy; every inch of him wanted Mark in the most genuine way possible. He pulled at him: he needed him closer, closer, closer. Mark seemed to have the same idea, fingers pressed into the dips of his hips underwater and pulling him flush against him. Donghyuck rut his cock against his hip, trying to gain friction and breathed his moans into Mark’s mouth. The prince pushed him into the shallows of the hot spring bath. He pulled away to give Donghyuck’s nose a delicate peck before rubbing it with his own.

“My real name is Minhyung.” He breathed against the fae’s skin. “Won’t you call me it? For me?”

“Lee Minhyung,” Donghyuck hummed. “I think I’m very much in love with you.”

Mark kissed his moles. He kissed every inch of skin he can see above water. Mark lifted his head to kiss Donghyuck’s lips once more. “Well Donghyuck-ah, you’re in luck because I knew from the start that I’m very much the same as you.”

Donghyuck just smiled against Mark’s lips. Despite Mark not directly saying he loves him, Donghyuck knows from the way he touches him and the way his kisses feel on his skin. Each touch is deafening. His heart surely can’t swell with this bright and fluttery feeling any more. Unlike the time before, Mark was being gentle. He kept asking if this and that was okay, if he could do certain things. Donghyuck wouldn’t deny him; they shared a mutual want. He wanted Mark. He wanted all of him, from his body to his heart to his very thoughts and desires. Mark just wanted all of Donghyuck too. This was the inevitable. The ultimatum not meant to be chosen. They were never meant to find comfort in one another; they were never meant to share this delicacy with each other. Their kingdoms would brand them traitors but somehow Donghyuck found comfort in that idea. He’d rather live as a fugitive than not live at all without Mark. It seemed like a radical thought, but as he sank further into the bliss the prince gave him, it was all he could reason with. Petals stuck to his skin and steam rose from it. His body was covered in reddening flush, from ear to toe. Mark moved to squeeze his thighs, kneading the firm flesh with his fingers. He pushed his tongue into Donghyuck’s mouth and licked every space. Lapped at his lips and tasted like the blue horizon. His hair dripped in strips of midnight, strips that Donghyuck pushed with his nose and breathed his hot breaths into as Mark bloomed darkened wisteria petals along his ribcage. 

Love is fatal. Love is flawed. Their love even more so. Yet despite everything, Mark still nuzzled Donghyuck’s cheek with his nose and pressed a waning kiss to the apple of his ursa minor. His hands pressed lingering patterns into the fae’s sunset skin. He opened him up with three fingers in knuckle-deep, having Donghyuck keening through the sound of trickling water from hollowed out bamboo stalks. Donghyuck writhed as his body turned into stardust at Mark’s touch, becoming just as serene as the waters he melted into. His soaked wings folded behind him, dripping along with his hair. Both glittered in the moonlight. Donghyuck’s glittered face sparkled in the wake of starlight.

“I’m ready.” He cupped Mark’s strong cut jaw and thumbed the edges.

Mark nodded, pressing another kiss into Donghyuck’s ajar mouth. He hooked Donghyuck’s knees over his shoulders, nearly bending him in half as he pushed himself into him. It took him a few minutes to bottom out, but when he did, Donghyuck tipped his head back and parted his lips. One thing that Mark learned about Donghyuck through the years was his vocalness; he paralleled him in almost every way. While Mark clenched his jaw in an effort not to let any sort of noise escape, Donghyuck freely jolted and airily whined as Mark snapped his hips against his. He was more than fine with Mark building up speed and let out high pitched gasps and sobs as he got railed. Blunt nails scratched crossed into the prince’s back as he angled his hips in a manner that had Donghyuck pulling him closer and Mark biting his earlobe softly. Donghyuck was keening at that, encouraging Mark to do it again—and he complied. Mark pushed into Donghyuck deeper, spreading him out and splitting him apart. 

Donghyuck fell apart in his arms and choked out cries, worshipping the way he was impaled on Mark’s cock. His hands scrapped for purchase, scratching lines into Mark’s mark and leaving open-mouthed painted kisses into Mark’s milky skin. He also shared another trait with Mark: he kept aiming his softest kisses for the mole on Mark’s jowl. Kissing Mark wasn’t enough for him. The moon rose higher in the sky, and Mark flooded Donghyuck’s insides with white-hot ropes of cum. In turn, Donghyuck hiccupped as tears rushed down his face and spilled out onto his stomach just from the feeling. His guts had been rearranged in the most loving way possible, really. When Mark started to to pull out, the fae pursed his lips into a pout and protested, pulling Mark closer.

“I wanna stay like this, Minhyung.” Donghyuck pleaded as Mark pulled him up from the waters. He was still firmly seated on Mark’s dick, but it didn’t seem to bother either of them. While Mark heard Donghyuck cry his name through his orgasm, it was different hearing it whispered in a small plea against his heart.

Mark didn’t deny him this. He sat in the shallow of the hot spring pool with matted bangs and a fae seated in his lap filled with him. Mark cupped his face with spread palms. He kissed Donghyuck once; then twice, then again and again until Donghyuck pushed Mark’s nose into the junction between his neck and shoulder. Mark rubbed Donghyuck’s back and pulled him flush against his body. He twitched inside Donghyuck momentarily, still coming off the adrenaline high. Water drops glistened down Donghyuck’s butterfly wings as they gently flapped in languid motions. Mark raised a hand and brushed his fingers down the inside of his Donghyuck’s wing, causing him to shudder in his arms. He hears a quiet  _ stop that _ before Donghyuck has Mark’s bottom lip slotted between his own lips. They kissed until their lips went numb, swollen, and bruised. When it was time to go, Mark reluctantly pulled out of Donghyuck but carried him to the archway. A maid wrapped a towel over Mark’s shoulders that covered Donghyuck as well. Back in his room, Mark set Donghyuck down by the fireplace and started toweling his hair dry. He also got the pleasure of toweling Donghyuck's wings dry, watching him squirm and whine between his legs. 

Donghyuck twists around and throws his legs over Mark’s, wrapping his arms around the prince’s shoulders. “Minhyung~ah let’s cuddle.”

“Don’t smother me with the pillows.” Mark couldn’t help but to smile. He hooks his hands underneath Donghyuck’s thighs and pulls him against his chest, carrying him to his bed. As Donghyuck’s back hit the bed, he pulled Mark down with him, smiling. Genuinely smiling.

“No promises.”

With their bodies pressed together on the bed, Mark breathed in Donghyuck’s pulse and kept his body close. He rested his head on the fae’s chest and settled to lay on top of him. Donghyuck carded his fingers through Mark’s hair, lightly massaging his scalp and petting down stray strands of drying hair. He was propped up against the mass of softened pillows, letting the prince turn to wet clay in his arms. He played with Mark’s hair with both his hands, giggling into the top of his head as Mark drifted off. Mark was warm and welcoming now. Much different from the revered and feared Prince of Luna, cold and calculated Crown Prince Lee. He fell for all of Mark, though. From the ice king that spoke sickly sweet poison to him to the morning star-laden boy in his arms. Though this wasn’t ever meant to be, they made it work, making the most out of it all.

Later, when Mark had Donghyuck pressed into the sheets and his cum running down the fae’s wings, he asked a question that would make the entire world crumble.

“Donghyuck,” The prince lapped up the knobs of his spine. “Will you marry me?”

  
  
  


Sweat rolled down Donghyuck’s honeyed skin, making him shine molten. The tip of his rapier was pressed against the underside of Mark’s chin, with the said man spread out on the dusty ground. He pulled it away, letting Mark rise with the moon and all his stars. It took him five seconds to flutter into his arms, secure and locked in an embrace as they kissed. Mark tasted like sweat and sky, which was nothing new, but still made Donghyuck feel alive. His heart thrummed with content when they interlocked their hands, gold bands on their ring fingers clicking in unison. 

“All mine,” Mark said and kissed Donghyuck’s button nose. “My assassin, my husband, my king.”

Donghyuck laughed lightly and molded his lips against Mark’s. “All mine, that you are.”


End file.
